


For the colours I can't see

by Alex-writes-about-life (Alexwritesaboutlife)



Series: Undertale Oneshots [8]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Blind Reader, Error Sans - Freeform, F/M, Inktale Sans, Just stuff, M/M, Other, Reader-Insert, Romantic or platonic its up to you, idk man
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-23
Updated: 2016-07-23
Packaged: 2018-07-26 07:28:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7565446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alexwritesaboutlife/pseuds/Alex-writes-about-life
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A casual thing between Ink Sans and the Reader. It's a small taster to see if people like it. Ink Sans belongs to Comyet on tumblr!!</p>
            </blockquote>





	For the colours I can't see

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! Uh thanks for reading! I could make this longer if people like it, this is just a taster chapter really.

Being the protector of the AU’s was an interesting job. Stopping them from being destroyed, saving the people if they got lost, or found their way out of their universe. But there was one constant threat to the safety and harmony of the universes. Ink supposed he had saved the AU’s from Error more times than he could count. 

He didn’t know why Error was so keen to destroy the AU’s. He knew he thought they were mistakes, glitches, problems. It didn’t make sense to him, he could only see them for the beautiful, complex pieces of art they were. And, just as Error’s mission was to destroy the AU’s, it was Ink’s to protect them. 

It was a lonely job, to say the least. He could motivate the artists to keep going, he could fight off art blocks, but he couldn’t talk to them. He couldn’t make friends with his alternate selves. He could only save them; he could never show himself to his counterparts. It would be him and Error locked in a battle forever. It was a thought he dreaded. He hoped he would eventually be able to communicate with Error, to show him the beauty of the AU’s, but as time wore on, it got harder to believe that this could happen. It was unfortunately an underlying trait for Sans’. They were typically pessimists, loners. He supposed in that way he could understand Error. The loneliness was tormenting; it was almost enough to drive him mad. As much as he tried to entertain himself with his projects and his work, it couldn’t compare to the company of another person, something he had been deprived of for a very long time. 

And then one day, someone fell. 

 

He didn’t know who you were. He didn’t know how you got there, who you were or where you’d come from. You were a human, that much he could tell. You were alive, in the whiteness of the void, an uncommon feat for humans, but you were unconscious. He didn’t know which universe you’d come from, so he couldn’t take you back. He’d scanned the AU’s quickly, but none of the universes seemed to be missing your code. He wondered if you even came from a universe. It seemed unlikely that you wouldn’t, although not impossible. After all, Ink himself was not from an AU. He merely existed outside them.

He sighed in resignation, and returned with you to his own personal section of the void. Coloured with swirls of every colour, unique pieces of art, copied from every universe, it was his favourite place to spend time. Tiny beautiful butterflies fluttered around the room, brought to life by his brush. Flowers he had drawn bloomed in a multitude of colours. It was a stunning sanctuary for Ink. He often wondered if Error had his own section of the void too. He suspected he might, and he hoped to find it because there was a chance that it might have some items in it which could give Ink a clue as to what Error liked in this void, which he could use to help Error see the beauty of the AU’s. Maybe he had his own hobby, a quirk which made him different to all other Sans’. In Ink’s experience, no two Sans were the same. 

His favourite part of his room was the ceiling. It was decorated with the view of stars from every universe, from every angle. There were galaxies, and novae and planets, and all of them were a different colour, shade, shape, all swirling together into one massive sky above him.  
He lay you on his sofa and watched you, doodling on his scarf, with the pencil he kept taped to the side of his head for times like this. He made a note of all the things he wanted to ask you, but was liable to forget in his excitement when you awoke. It was hypnotic watching you sleep, the way your chest rose and fell, the small breaths that came from your mouth, the small mumbles you made in your sleep.  
“Ngh…no…NO!!!!!!!!!” You sat bolt upright, eyes wide open on Ink’s paint splattered sofa. Your eyes were a pale milky white. It was then Ink realised you couldn’t see. 

 

You were afraid of the dark.  
It was horribly ironic really. You were blind, so everything was cloaked in darkness. And maybe that made your fears rational. You had no idea what was out there, no idea what might be lurking around the corner. 

And yet, having been blind your whole life, you felt like you ought to be used to the dark, to the loneliness that blindness wrought. Oh, people tried to be your friend, you’d give them that. But it was always so they could claim to be the caring one with the blind friend, or they got tired of you, realising you actually had to rely on them. You weren’t a talkative person, you much preferred to listen to other people. And whilst some people enjoyed it, the majority of them were annoyed by your silent, stoic nature. And you hated it. You hated being dependant on another person, never truly able to be independent. You were a real person, with real ambitions, skill, dreams. You could visualise the most gorgeous and abstract creatures, sights, uninhibited by the limits of reality since you had never seen it. 

It was a lonely dark life, and eventually it got to you. You knew there were others who had been blind who dealt with it better than you. It wasn’t a contest, about who dealt with to the best you knew that. But, as far as you were concerned, some people were better equipped to deal with it. 

Regardless of the reason, when you found yourself on the cliff that evening you found yourself at peace. The sound of the ocean was calming, and the smell of salt reassuring, the feeling of air around your legs cold and sharp. 

Then you were suddenly hit with a pang of pain. A pang which called to you, which made you feel like you didn’t belong here. Not just on this cliff, but in this world. It was a horrible feeling which brought tears to your dull, unseeing eyes. 

It was in a trance that you began to move, that you walked forwards, unknowingly into the sea in front of you. 

As you fell, you felt the air whistle past you. You fell for what seemed like forever and then you realised you couldn’t hear the sea anymore. 

And then something hit you and you blacked out. 

When you awoke, you could feel something beneath you. Something soft, squishy, but covered with hard splodges of something dried into the material. Running your fingers over it, the texture reminded you of oil paint. 

You heard someone move, and they seemed to be at your side in a matter of seconds. Ink was on his knees next to the brown sofa. You were looking the opposite direction to him, confirming his suspicion you couldn’t see. He didn’t know how to interact with you, he didn’t know what to discuss. He couldn’t imagine not being able to see, to not be able to create art. He sighed. He hadn’t really planned this out, but then he wasn’t much good at planning anyway. He supposed he would just have to go on the fly and try and be himself. That was what people usually advised! 

“Oh! You’re awake! Are you okay? You sounded like you were having a nightmare! Oh, but of course, it’s not night! Which is a shame really because I really like night-time! Have you ever seen this one galaxy to the left of-oh I’m sorry, I guess you wouldn’t have, but let me tell you, it is gorgeous! Hey we should go see them! Oh wait…which ones was I talking about?” He asked. You looked confused, and he wondered whether he was talking too quickly.

You blinked against the barrage of questions. The voice was soft, light and enthusiastic, and far faster than any you had ever heard before. You didn’t know why, but you took an instant liking to the speaker. He- it was defiantly male, seemed to realise you were blind, and yet he didn’t tiptoe around the fact and instead began to try and describe the stars to you. He also seemed to have disjointed thoughts, each running into each other. 

“Uh…I’m sorry but…who are you?” You asked, turning your head in the direction of the voice. His eyes lit up as he looked at your face. 

“Oh! Your eyes!” He gasped. 

“Uh, yeah, I’m blind…” But didn’t he know that? He had certainly acted like he did…

“No, that’s not…They’re gorgeous!” He informed you, transfixed by them.

“Gorgeous?” That was the first time anyone had called any aspect of you that. 

“Sure! They’re like…these deep pools of tranquillity! But, they don’t just have one colour! They remind me of this work of art I saw in a universe once, oh what was it called?”

“Sorry…but as fascinating as this conversation is, what is your name? It feels rude to not call you anything.” You asked, your head beginning to spin a little at the conversations blurring into one. 

“Ah, yes names. My name is Sans, but you can call me Ink.” He replied, a little hesitantly.

“Ink…like the kind in a pen?” 

“Yes, like the kind in a pen. What is your name then?” He asked, curiously. He didn’t interact much with the humans in the universes. He didn’t know much about them, aside the astounding art he had seen them create, many of which had birthed the very AU’s he protected. 

“My name, my name is Y/N.” 

“Y/N…” He tasted the word. It was foreign on his tongue, as beautiful and unique as any kind of visual artwork. Many associated art with merely the visual kind, but it simply wasn’t the case. Any form of writing could be a form of art, and people were possibly the most complex artwork he had ever seen. “I like it!” 

You smiled. He seemed so enthusiastic about everything, even just your name. 

“Ink? Can I…see your face?” You asked, hesitantly. 

“What do you mean?” He asked. You couldn’t see could you? 

“I mean…if I touch your face, it helps me learn your features, helps me know what you look like, who you are.” You were nervous. Most people were uneasy with the idea of you touching their face, and usually refused. Those who didn’t, tended to stiffen until it was over and usually sigh in relief. 

“Oh sure!” He bounded towards your arms. You stretched them out gently when you felt a pair of hands grip your wrist. The tips of the fingers felt oddly hard, and cool. Further down the hand, covering the palm was some kind of fabric, soft. You assumed it was a pair of fingerless gloves. They tended to be popular because they allowed full utilisation of the fingers. Ink tugged your hands forwards gently until you were touching something warm and smooth. His face was odd, as you slid your hands over it, feeling a small dip, which you assumed was his mouth, though you couldn’t feel any lips. His face was abnormally hard, and you traced around the rims of a pair of big holes, like sockets. Then you came across a slick splatter, which you confusedly traced your hands through.

You felt his face grow warm, as though he was blushing.

Ink blushed as you ran your hand through the ink stain on your face, the rainbow spreading across his cheeks. “Oh…sorry. That’s an ink stain! I’m always covered in them! Well, not always, but usually, and I mean, I wasn’t expecting company today!” 

You nodded and continued your exploration, over his face. When you were finished, you removed your hands and placed them in your lap. 

“Ink?” 

“Yes?” 

“You…you’re not human are you?” 

“No. I’m a skeleton. Sorry, does that unsettle you? I probably should have asked!!” 

“N-no don’t be silly! You being a skeleton doesn’t upset me, it’s simply who you are. I just wasn’t expecting it was all. You have a nice face. Very open, very honest.” 

“Oh well thank you!! If it helps, you have a very nice face too! I know you can’t see it but, you’re really very attractive. But, I do have one question!” 

“Shoot.”

“Shoot?” Why on earth would I shoot something?”

“Uh, it’s a human expression. It means ask.” 

“Oh I see! I shall shoot then! How did you get into the void, and where did you come from? I mean... Which universe? I couldn’t see where your code was from! Was it nice there? I bet it was!”

“The…void?”

“Yeah! That’s where we are now! Or well, my personal section of it. There’s mostly nothing here except me and Error. There’s a way to get back to the AU’s if you know where to look though! Which I do! But uh… so does Error, so that keeps me occupied.”

“Who is Error?” 

“Well, there is basically an Alpha timeline, and a lot of universes that stem off of it, oh they’re beautiful you know. The creativity that brought them around is incredible. But anyway, in that timeline, there are a set of characters which occur in every AU, although they usually have different personalities or quirks. But me and Error, are out of universe characters. We don’t belong to any of the universes. I think Error might have come from one once, but its lost now. My job, the reason I was created was to protect the universes. To manage the creation of new ones and help chase off art blocks. But I also have to fight Error. He hates them. I don’t know why, or what happened, but he wants to destroy them all, so I stop him.”

“Oh my.“ You murmured. 

“So…wait what was my question? Uh…” Ink paused to check his scarf, where he had been listing his questions. “Ah! Right, how did you get here?”

“I…don’t know. I was just sitting on a cliff…and there was this…call.”

“Like a phone call?” 

“No not like a phone call. Like a call to my being.” You said, staring blankly 

“Huh. I’ve never heard of anything like that.”

“No…it was weird.“ You frowned. “So…uh, what do you do for fun?”

“Fun. I like to make art! It’s nice to look at other people’s but it’s nice to make your own too!”

“I guess it must be. I can’t say I’ve ever done it. Well, I’m sure you can guess why. Difficult to draw when you can’t see the pencil.” You laughed, gently and a little bitterly.

“See that’s where you’re wrong! You don’t have to draw! That’s not the only type of art out there! What about writing? You could write poetry, or music or a book!”

“Same problem, I can’t see the paper to write.” 

“I could help you! I could be your eyes!”

“You could?” 

“Yeah! What did I just tell you? It’s my job to help artists remember!”

“I…suppose I could give it a try.” 

“Great!! I’ll get some paper!” He ran off excitedly. You could the soles of his plastic shoes along the floor. You realised you’d gotten so caught up in Ink’s excitement, that you’d forgotten to ask Ink how you would get home. But you didn’t really want to go home. And you liked Ink. His enthusiasm was infectious. 

“I’m back! He called, arriving with some paper and a pen. He helped you to your feet, and led you to the table he used to do his art on. “Here, you can use my table!” 

You frowned. Wasn’t Ink supposed to sit there if he was writing for you? You decided not to ask. 

“So! What should I write?!” 

“Um…” You opened your mouth and closed it again. It was as though your mind had gone blank, and you couldn’t call anything to mind. “I- don’t know. I’m really uninspired.” You admitted in frustration. 

Ink closed his eyes for a second. Then he opened them, bright with ideas. 

“I’ve got an idea. Come with me!” He held out his arm and you reached through the air for him. you found it and you hooked onto his arm. You were shorter than he was, by about half a head, he noted in glee. He was one of the shortest Sans’ bar Underswap Sans. He wrapped one arm around your waist to lift you over the gap between his void and the seeing sphere. At least, that’s what he called it. 

You could feel a lump in his side, of his tied hoodie around his waist. You could feel the strap over his shoulders lined with bottles. You could feel something flowing from his neck…a scarf. You could smell ink and paint on him. He could smell salt and lavender on you. 

“Ink? Where are we?” 

“We’re in a place I call the seeing sphere. It lets you see anything you can imagine”

“You…brought a blind person to a seeing sphere? Why?” 

“For inspiration. Just trust me. Now.” He took a hold of your hands. “what I want you to do, is imagine the place you like most in the world.” 

You took a deep breath and closed your eyes. You didn’t know why, but you felt like you should. You imagined the sea from home. The coast. The wind as it whipped at your hair and face, and the salt spray on your lips. You didn’t know what the sea looked like of course, but you visualised what you imagined it to look like. 

And then suddenly it was all there, real and vivid. The sea, the noise of the waves crashing against the beach. The salt spray lightly speckling your face. 

Ink had known you would able to do it. He just didn’t know that you would be so creative, so imaginative. You’d imagined the sea, from the sounds and smell. But the sight…it was like you’d taken the sea and transformed it into a whole new world. A whole plethora of stunning creatures frolicked in the serene multi-coloured setting you had created.  
Not having your sight had made you the most beautiful artist he had ever seen. 

“Wow…” He breathed. The sounds reminded you of home, and prompted you to ask the question that had been bugging you. 

“Ink? How am I going to get home?”

“I…don’t know. I don’t know where you came from and I don’t know where you came from. I’m sorry Y/N. I’m so sorry, but I don’t think I can take you home.” He sounded like he was crying. And he was. Big rainbow tears welling in his sockets, threatening to spill over. 

“You know, I never really liked my home. Besides, maybe home isn’t a place it’s a person. Maybe…maybe you could be that person Ink.”

“Gee-Do you think so? I'd really like that Y/N. It gets lonely out here.”

“I know so.” You smiled at him, a warm smile, and even though your eyes were blank, they held all the emotion in your heart that you had been repressing over the past few years. And at the top of the pile, Ink could see the longing you had felt, the want to be accepted, to be a part of society. 

“You know what Ink? I think I’m ready to write that poem now.” You murmured. 

“I think you are too.” He confessed. “I brought the paper with me. “ 

You nodded. “Should I just…begin?” He reached over and squeezed your hand. 

“Just say whatever comes into your head.”

“Okay.” And you dictated to him, hearing the pen scratch against the paper and the smell of wet ink. 

Red for my lover as red as a rose, they say it means love, and that’s true I suppose.  
Orange for joy, which many honest people do employ.  
Yellow for intellect, far above beauty, a most valued asset.  
Green is for harmony, between you and me, they say if you have it, love comes for free.  
Blue is for trust, but also for lust, both are beneficial but one is a must.  
Purple is ambition, of which I don’t have much but maybe all I need is to feel your reassuring touch.  
All these colours you do adore, and every day they make me love you more.  
But I do hope you’ll stay with me, and describe the colours that I can’t see.

When you had finished you heard Ink put the pen down. 

“What do you think?” You asked nervously.

“It’s beautiful!!” He claimed passionately. “I think you’ve got a real future with poetry! But now…how about I show you some coffee art? I saw it in a universe, I forget which, but there was a me there…Latte Sans maybe? I don’t know, but it tastes great!!” 

Yeah. Yeah maybe you’d be okay here, you thought as the two of you set off.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading guys, hope you enjoyed it!! Let me know if you want to see more, and lets all make an agreement to NEVER let Comyet know this exists because its awful and I don't want her to read my trash. Plus her stuff is super cool! This is of course, nothing canon or to do with the official InkTale story, although I did try to base it on her description of Ink.


End file.
